


Wearing His Clothes

by pleasesayitsnotso



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Adorable, Affection, Attraction, Banter, Caring, Comfort, Cute, Domestic Avengers, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Falling In Love, Flirting, Fluff, Humor, Love, Sharing Clothes, Teasing, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-18 11:54:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3568661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pleasesayitsnotso/pseuds/pleasesayitsnotso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of short stories depicting the development of Natasha's habit of wearing Steve's clothes, whilst also showing the progression of their relationship. Be prepared for a whole lot of cuteness and banter, and enjoy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The beginning

**I**

* * *

 

   Within the midst of another undercover mission, Steve and Natasha had emerged from the battle alive but scathed and what had begun as a warm sunny day had quickly dissolved into darkness, with the wind whipping the sheets of rain into sporadic and violent movements that jabbed at the two Avengers. Moving as steadily as they could through alleyways, amongst the dark shadows, the two of them sought shelter that was devoid of any company and was inconspicuous enough to not arouse an investigation by their assailants. Steve’s eyes patrolled the streets vigorously, his bright azure orbs a stark contrast to the dull surroundings they inhabited, he held his injuries well, the super serum already doing its job, however Natasha struggled to continue walking in an unaffected manner. Glancing back at her his features contorted into a vision of worry, before his eyes laid upon a small derelict shop, hidden well by graffiti and boarded up tightly, right now it would have to do. As they came to halt Natasha slumped against him slightly, her leg giving way at the sudden stop, his arm instinctively wrapped around her waist holding her close to him in a protective manner. Her voice came out in choked breathes, as she worked through the pain, trying to subdue it and battle against it,   

“Steve... We need to get further out of town.” Shuffling himself and his injured comrade further back into the shadows, he hushed back, his tone ravaged with urgency,

“Nat you can barely walk, plus you’re shaking from the cold, if we don’t get you somewhere safe and warm your condition could get worse. We don’t need that right now.” Within those beautiful azure eyes of his Natasha could see that beneath the alert, defiant and calculating guise of the Captain he was extremely worried about her. Not wanting to give in to her body’s cry for rest, but convinced by his argument that if she got worse they’d be getting nowhere fast and that could be the end of them both. Glancing at the location of his choice, she finally conceded with a slight nod and a breathy reply,  

“Okay... let’s go.” With his arm supporting her, they travelled swiftly and discreetly amongst the shadows making their way along the street and to their proposed shelter. Both studied their surroundings meticulously checking for any bystanders or threats, before thanking the poor weather for preventing any onlookers who could sell them out. Reaching the door Steve managed to kick it in easily whilst still holding Natasha close to his side, before using his free hand to rip free the ailing boards used in a pathetic attempt to bar the doorway. Striding into the shop, Steve pulled the door tight behind him; all the while Natasha scanned the small room. Apart from the pile of post and numerous fliers that laid in the doorway, there was nothing much in the room bar some rubbish which indicated that someone else had also sought shelter, however they were now long gone. Staring into the dark corners she found no occupiers or threats and so stated plainly,

“Clear.” With those words she felt the tension in Steve’s body release slightly, clearly relieved to finally be somewhere relatively safe for the time being, and so turning to face her fully he lowered her to the floor so she could sit up with her back against the wall. Once he did so he strode over to the window, pulling back the ageing grotty curtains slightly he allowed some natural light into the room, allowing him a better look at his injured companion. Whilst he did this Natasha hiked her dress up to reveal her hastily bandaged thigh, adorned with a homemade tourniquet, before gently pulling back the bandage to reveal a wound that had clotted well and despite the discomfort she knew that to remove the bullet now could cause her to lose a whole lot more blood. She didn't have time to bleed out, and to become a burden was the last thing she wanted to be. Steve was now crouched in front of her looking at her injured thigh also, concern caused his brow to furrow and a slight grimace contorted his lips before he hushed,

“Nat, that looks bad... we need to get you medical help as soon as possible.” Natasha shook her head readily in refusal before placing the bandage back over the wound and glancing back up at him her reply rich with her usual wit,

“Believe me I’ve had worse. I’m a big girl I can handle it.” It was then that she winced slightly, for once at her own voice, and not at the relentless pain that throbbed from her thigh. She sounded breathless and husky, as if the wound had sucked every ounce of energy she had possessed but worse of all she could hear her teeth chattering together, clacking incessantly to remind her of how cold she actually was. Now she had finally stopped moving her body responded readily to the cold temperature she had plummeted to, her dress was soaked and clung to her, whilst water droplets trickled rapidly from her sodden tresses tracing glistening channels across her alabaster skin. Steve’s expression had further fallen into one of great concern and worry, as he too noticed her evident shivering, and quickly pulled off the hooded zip up jumper he had donned that day,

“Nat you’re freezing, here wear this.” Pulling it from his arms he wrapped it over her shoulders, allowing her to glide her arms into it herself, knowing that his pandering would agitate her more than aid her. As she slid her arms into the garment, her skin tingled delightfully at the warmth that exuded from the jumper, despite its damp condition, and all at once she felt slightly jealous of Steve’s super soldier physiological capabilities. However now wearing his jumper, she felt considerably better already, as she wrapped her arms across her waist pulling the material tighter around her, glancing up at him she felt her lips pull into a smirk as she quipped,

“Thanks... I hope you’re not expecting this back anytime soon.” A soft chuckle rumbled eloquently from Steve’s lips as he stood up fully, before he raked his fingers through his drenched hair. **Little did he know that this would be the start of a longstanding habit of the red headed spy, one that would be both equally endearing and bothersome.**


	2. T-Shirt

**II**

* * *

 

   Steve had enjoyed a nice hot shower after an intense morning gym session, and was now looking to enjoy a rare day of relaxation and leisure. Opening a draw, which was of course organised immaculately, he looked upon the row of perfectly folded t-shirts seeking out his favourite, a sky blue number, but found it strangely absent. His brow folded into a frown of confusion as he remembered vividly placing it in this specific draw, his incredible memory never usually failing him, Steve conceded that there must be some sort of explanation but that for now it was not important. Grabbing hold of a grey t-shirt he pulled it over his head, and as he strolled out of his suite he grabbed hold of the book he was currently reading, and headed towards the Avengers living room.

   Steve settled comfortably into the single armchair that was situated next to the gratuitous window that looked out upon the balcony, opening out onto the breathtaking view of the city he now called home. The sun streamed in illuminating the room beautifully, and inciting a feeling of absolute calm and tranquillity in the soldier, a feeling that he found was incredibly rare now a days. Absorbed in his book, he heard the soft footsteps that were unmistakably Natasha’s entering the room; glancing momentarily over the top of his book he greeted her cheerfully,

“Morning Nat.”  Before returning his eyes back to his book, as he heard her reply in her usual rich and enchanting voice,

“Good morning Rogers.” After a moment Steve’s brow contorted in bewilderment, before he looked back up, casting his full attention on the busying figure of the spy. On casting his gaze upon her he saw she now donned a pair of denim shorts that exhibited her toned and shapely pins, her curly crimson tresses was pulled back into a scruffy bun, some tendrils fell around her face framing her striking features perfectly. In her hand she held some files, that were clearly her object of study for the day, however the main focus of his attention was her t-shirt. It was most definitely his favourite blue t-shirt, hanging loosely off her shapely and curvaceous figure he could not deny that the colour looked magnificent on her, a stunning contrast to her luscious scarlet curls. His arms fell to the side in disbelief, as his eyebrows raised high upon his forehead mystified slightly by what he was seeing, as she walked over to the sofa and settled herself down, her long legs stretching out in front of her. Breaking the silence that had befallen them both Steve’s voice rang out strongly a teasing tone playing on his words,

“Nice t-shirt Nat, I swear I’ve seen someone else with it on.” Her gaze remained glued on the document in her hand; however he saw her lips curl deliciously into her trademark smirk that he so treasured, as she responded wittily,

“It’s a popular colour Rogers, mass distribution and production means that it’s highly likely your impressive memory has seen another person wearing it.” This provoked a hearty laugh to rumble delightfully from Steve, inducing a playful grin to etch its way across her plump crimson lips, as he brought his book back up in front of him, and tried to ignore the amusement that tickled him readily. After a beat of silence, Steve looked back at her over the edge of his book, in moments such as this it occurred to him how truly beautiful she really was. Her features were sculpted with a sharpness that captured you immediately; however they also held an entrancing elegance that induced him to wonder if he could ever draw a true depiction that could communicate all that he saw. She exuded strength, control and power in a way that was neither overwhelming nor aggressive but that was just so, just there and completely understood and respected. A soft smile graced his charming features as he commented benevolently,

“It looks good on you; I’m sure the other person who I saw wearing it didn’t look half as good.” Still studying her files the edge of her lips curved delightfully into an endearing smile, before she teasingly replied,

“ **He didn’t look too bad for an old man**.” Steve chuckled softly as he returned his gaze to his book, the usual comforting ease of their shared presence settled contentedly in the welcoming rays of the morning sun.


	3. Vest

**III**

* * *

 

  Struggling to sleep had become a ritual battle for Steve; his mind ravaged him with the memories of his past and the decisions that had inflicted pain upon the people he loved most. The guilt weighed heavy on his conscious, wilfully dragging him into the shadows where his inner hatred laid bare and festering, consuming him in his dark moments. On nights such as these he’d often occupy the Avengers living quarters, either reading a book or watching TV, which he often found astounded him with its ridiculousness, however on this occasion he simply stood in front of the large glass windows observing the hum and buzz of the city that didn’t sleep. The city that glimmered and gleamed with life in a manner that often caused him to gaze in awe at the modern world he now occupied. Lost in his thoughts he failed to hear the approach of the redheaded spy, as her voice pierced through the tranquil silence that had befallen the room, alarming him momentarily,

“Hey you okay there Rogers?” A half hearted smile managed to pull against his lips, as he turned towards her, before he replied in a not so convincing manner,

“Yeah, I’m fine.” A smirk etched its way across her features as she raised her eyebrows in disbelief, knowing full well he was lying, her voice held a tone of amusement as she responded,

“Don’t lie to me Steve, you’re a terrible liar.” Turning fully to address her a low chuckle reverberated from the soldier, as he allowed his gaze to settle upon her. Her eyes sparkled readily with wit and charm, and the smirk that now beautifully captured her lips had brought with it two endearing dimples that he had never before noticed. Her crimson locks cascaded over her shoulders, causing her alabaster skin to positively glow in the low evening light, as she donned a large oversized white vest that hung off her petite figure, paired with a black crop top underneath and a pair of black shorts, she looked as bewitching as always. As his amusement petered out, he sighed out an honest response,

“I guess even in sleep you can’t hide from your demons.” Placing herself at his side she too gazed out at the bright lights that flickered and danced across the skyline, before she spoke again her voice edged with pure sincerity,

“We all have to live with the consequences of our actions, no matter how bad they are.” Her eyes remained glued upon the cityscape; and unbeknownst to Natasha her arms had found themselves crossed against her chest, protecting herself from the hauntings of her past transgressions. One he knew she bore heavily, and endeavoured daily to recompense for, with her unfailing commitment to the protection of the world she lived in. His eyes glided over the stern defiance of her features, stirring a deep need to comfort her, to lighten the load that she carried every hour of every day, she deserved that much. His voice broke through her silent reverie, strong and reassuring as always,

“A load shared is a burden halved, I think we both need to learn that.” Glancing up at him she smiled softly, however he saw a rare glimpse of melancholy seated deep within her emerald eyes hidden amongst the radiant shards of wit, charm and intelligence. Placing herself before him she reached up, resting her petite hand at the base of his neck before pressing a tender kiss to his cheek, as she pulled back slowly she hushed,

“Thanks Steve.” As she turned and started to walk away Steve was hit by a sudden realisation, and he was struck by pure amazement at her audacity,

“Nat is that my vest?” Spinning on her toes while she walked she swivelled towards him as she teasingly drawled,

“Maybe.” As she turned and continued her path towards the door, Steve called after her,

“Stop wearing my clothes!” A rare and attractive chuckle spilled from her lips as she responded avidly,

“Get some sleep!” Before disappearing out the door, Steve shook his head in disbelief however he could not deny the amused grin that forced its way upon his face. **That woman was indeed quite something.**


	4. Jumper

**IV**

* * *

 

   On his return from a recently assigned mission Steve felt the craving for a fine cup of tea make its appearance, and so made his way hastily to the kitchen area intent on quenching his thirst. On entering the room it appeared to be devoid of company, and so he quietly got on with making his drink. Padding over to the sofa with the intention of reading the newspaper whilst sipping his tea, he saw on his approach that huddled on the couch was Natasha. Her eyes were closed; however she looked drawn and pale, lacking the enchanting glow her complexion usually emanated, whilst under her nose her skin looked red and sore. Rippling through the silence was the sound of her breathes heavy and laboured as she struggled to breathe efficiently. Steve turned to retreat to the breakfast bar in order to leave the assumed to be sleeping spy to some peace, however he could not dispel the niggle of concern that tugged him towards the decision to stay seated by her side, hesitating for a moment the still form of Natasha stirred slowly. One hand came to her forehead, her thumb and index finger massaging soothing circles just above her temples, before her eyes opened squinting at the bright light of the afternoon sun. It was then he could fully see the impact of her apparent illness, her eyes lacked their effervescent gleam and the glint of mischief that always kept him so on edge and underneath them was the dulled shadows of fatigue. Her gaze focused on him, and amongst the muggy feeling that now consumed her head she saw the concerned expression of Steve, and it surprised her how relieved she was to know that he was now back. He was so worried about her that she observed that his brow had lowered and screwed up just above the bridge of his nose, and his lips were pursed tightly in a straight line. Looking over her once more Steve broke the silence,

“Nat are you ok? You look...” Before he could finish his sentence, her husky and broken voice interrupted him, accompanied by a weary droll expression,

“... shit?” Steve abruptly stopped, before tilting his head slightly and providing a look of discontent, as she rolled her eyes before croaking out a response,

“Calm it Captain, I know it’s not in your nature to _insult a lady_.” Her voicing adopted a teasing tone to accompany her last few words, which in turn induced a violent coughing fit from the spy. Immediately Steve placed his tea and newspaper on the coffee table before placing himself beside her, his hand rubbing soft circles into her back in an attempt to soothe her, as he gently spoke,

“Nat I’m going to get you a glass of water okay?” As her chest continued to heave and a cacophony of coughs reverberated around the room she managed to nod in response, before Steve hastily moved into the kitchen to procure said glass of water. After he had returned and she had managed to take a few sips, thus finally ridding her of her persistent and vicious cough, she managed to express her appreciation through a laboured breath,

“Thanks Steve.” A hesitant smile etched its way upon his lips, however his clear azure eyes held the deep worry he clearly felt for her, and which she could so plainly see. Her body sunk into the sofa in response to her body finally being released from its brutal fit, allowing a deep sigh to escape from her ailing form, before Steve spoke,

“That’s okay; I’m back for a while now so if you need anything... just... well you know where I am.” Her features took on a smile of pure sincerity, one that relieved Steve slightly of the apprehension he held for her, before she replied softly,

“I know.” He smiled back at her, causing two endearing dimples to appear, a feature she had never taken note of before but made her realise even further the depths of his beauty, and the charm he unequivocally held. Leaning forward he grabbed his tea and newspaper before settling back into the space next to her, just as Natasha realised she was wearing a jumper of his, something which she knew aggravated him, much to her delight,

“Oh Steve... I borrowed your jumper.”  Looking back at her he glanced down, identifying the large navy cable knit jumper she was wearing to be his, before bestowing a look of disbelief and asking,

“Borrowed?” At that she couldn’t resist the smirk that crept upon her face, a telling indication that she knew perfectly well what he was insinuating, however she couldn’t resist playing dumb to amuse herself if not him, and so replied with a mock tone of misunderstanding,

“What?” A slight sigh escaped from the soldier; however she could see the edges of his lips curl ever so slightly at her feigned confusion, before he replied with an air of artificial exasperation,

“Borrowed implies it’ll be returned... I have a feeling that’s unlikely.” A raspy chuckle spluttered from the redhead, before she stuck her tongue out at him in jest, inducing a pleasant laugh to emit from Steve himself at her immature retort. Through the remainders of his amused chuckle he stated,

“You should get some rest Nat.” Sliding her feet into his lap, and very nearly knocking the cup of tea out of his hand and the newspaper off of his knee, she snuggled down into the sofa and the pillow that adorned her side as she managed to croak out,

“Ay ay Captain.” Her eyes closed as she allowed the much needed veil of sleep to work its magic on her tired and weakened body, whilst Steve shook his head in amusement at her quip before taking a sip of his tea and opening up his newspaper. **There weren’t many people left in the world for who he cared for so much, however unexpectedly she had become one of those very few, and if he was brutally honest he didn’t know the extent of his compassion for her until this very day.**


	5. Shorts

**V**

* * *

 

   On the incredibly rare occasions when all of the Avengers had time to spare, they would often indulge in a movie night, all of them together often bickering over what to watch before finally someone made a decision and all were silenced by the beginnings of the film. This evening, bar Thor and including Sam, all the team were assembled together in the lounge waiting for Natasha to return from a shower, before undertaking the arduous task of choosing which movie to watch. Steve sat on one side of sofa, dressed in a pair of navy joggers and a tight white t-shirt; he had his legs stretched out before him and crossed at the ankles, indulging in a rare moment of relaxation with friends. One space across from Steve sat Tony, the ankle of his left foot resting on the knee of his other leg whilst he sipped languidly from a tumbler of whiskey, clearly savouring the taste and enjoying the burn he was so frightfully addicted to. Clint sat comfortably in a single armchair, a bag of crisps settled in his lap and being devoured at an alarming rate, whilst a look of impatience painted the charismatic archers features. Sam and Bruce occupied the sofa adjacent to the other, Bruce had a laptop placed on his lap as he continued his never ending research, his glasses perched in their familiar manner on his nose, whilst Sam held a bag of sweets he dipped into every now and again.

   Finally the soft familiar footsteps of Natasha were heard entering the room, inducing mostly everyone except Bruce, to cast their glance her way as she approached. Her trademark crimson tresses, looked darker and her curls tighter and more defined due to their damp nature, and on her top half she donned a black tank top that clung delectably to her strong and enticing curves. However it did not fail to catch Steve’s eyes that on her bottom half she wore a pair of his grey flannel shorts, rolled up on the waist they still managed to fall just below her knee, as they hung off her petite form. Inadvertently a small smirk of endearment crept its way across his lips, as he took in the vision of beauty he now knowingly beheld, the woman who increasingly managed to wheedle her way into his affections. As she strode over she came up behind Clint, reaching over him to procure a crisp from his, seemingly beloved, bag she swiftly and deftly snatched one inducing an alarmed exclamation from her best friend,

“OI!” Sauntering over to the sofa occupied by Steve, she stuck her tongue out teasingly so at the aggravated archer before triumphantly popping the crisp into her mouth. On approaching the back of the sofa, she elegantly swung herself over and placed herself gently into the space between Steve and Tony, before draping her legs languidly over Steve’s, another habit she had taken to. Her rich smooth voice slithered through the deep murmurs of the men around her, commanding their attention immediately,

“So what are we watching boys?” Before casting an inquiring look towards Sam, as she eyed up his bag of sweets, he teasingly rolled his eyes before tossing a chewy sweet her way which she caught accurately before tossing it into her mouth, a satisfied and appreciative smirk painted across her plump lips. Steve noticed Tony’s look of bewilderment, his eyebrows drawn together in puzzlement, as he cast his gaze over Natasha’s lower half, clearly perplexed by her choice of wardrobe, and for some reason causing Steve to feel slightly nervous. Tony continued to assess his fellow team mate’s attire before responding to her enquiry,

“I think the first question to address, on behalf of everyone else’s curiosity as well as mine, is what the hell are you wearing?” Steve knows that Natasha knows perfectly well what he means, and everybody else is definitely sure she does too, but clearly she’s in the mood to amuse herself if not anyone else, as she inquisitively asked,

“What?” Tony bestowed her a look that clearly said ‘I’m not buying that’ however he can’t help the smirk of amusement at her gall,

“Red those are clearly not your shorts, so what poor man have you trapped and tortured now?”  A low and luxurious laugh rolls delectably from her lips before she throws a look of pure seduction towards Tony, a teasing and alluring smirk shaping her plump crimson lips as she drawled suggestively,

“Oh Stark, how you’d love to be trapped and tortured by me.” A playful wink ended her impressive display of ridicule as she grinned pleased with herself, her fellow company chuckling in amusement or discomfort... or both. Tony however, as expected, did not fall victim to her wit as he replied readily, his free hand placed upon his chest as if to heal a broken and aching heart,

“We could have been something so beautiful.” His voice dripped in mock hurt, as Natasha chuckled along with everyone else at his, dare they say it, amusing come back. Despite the entertaining war of words, Clint had long ago had enough of waiting for Natasha to arrive, let alone pick a movie and casting a look of irritation towards his fellow companions, he shovelled another handful of crisps into his mouth before muttering exasperatedly,

“Are we actually going to choose a film?” Tony quipped back in response to the aggravated archer,

“Calm down Katniss, don’t get your bow in a twist.” To which Clint threw another unimpressed and incensed look towards the billionaire philanthropist, before resuming the rabid ingestion of his bag of crisps.  

   Whilst everyone else occupied themselves with looking through the Netflix list of films, murmuring opinions and pointing to whichever film they thought should be chosen, Steve glanced down at the legs adorning his lap that wore his shorts, a smile of affection and amusement shaping his features beautifully. With a slight chuckle to himself he gently placed his hands upon her knees, his thumbs tracing soft circles over the soft grey material covering them, coaxing Natasha to glance over at him, amidst a brewing and predictable argument over which film to watch, a knowing smile curved the edge of her lips ever so slightly and in turn caused his to do the same. **Steve wasn’t sure whether he would ever understand this slightly bemusing habit she had adopted, however it did bring him a slight feeling of satisfaction in knowing that at this moment in time it was their little secret.**


	6. Leather Jacket

**VI**

* * *

 

   This specific seize of one of many Hydra bases had been particularly difficult, far more perilous than the many others, indicating that they were clearly getting close to the source of those higher up, of the puppet masters who gladly played with those on strings. Amongst the chaos Clint had been gravely hurt, and Natasha had immediately taken on the burden of responsibility for it, something they all knew was not her burden to carry, but carry it she did.

   Steve entered the communal living quarters of the Avengers tower, everyone was occupied elsewhere, but there in the dulled light of the early hours was Natasha, sat in a chair right by the large window that spanned from floor to ceiling, looking out upon the city that surrounded it. The sky was painted an array of varying shades of grey; many of the darker persuasion, as torrents of rain fell tugged this way and that in the vicious and deviant throws of the wind. The room continued the gloomy tones of melancholy, as shadows etched the corners of the room, and clung to every object that could bestow the best conditions for its murky silhouettes to prevail. Despite this enough natural light managed to illuminate the figure of her, the crimson curls she so famously wore tumbled over her shoulders in an unruly and unkempt manner that reflected her inner disarray, and Steve also identified that in her hand she held a glass tumbler holding a fair amount of clear liquid, which he was sure was not water.

   Making his way towards her, he placed himself beside her, his presence did not alarm her and she doesn’t even move to address who it is that has entered the room, mainly because she probably already knows. Steve bestows his gaze upon her features; she’s in a similar state to him, however probably slightly worse due to the advantageous healing powers of the serum he possesses, her skin is peppered with bruises of varying degrees and amongst the discoloured skin there are a number of cuts and lacerations. Some have been sewn up neatly, however their edges are tainted by the dry, crumbling remains of her blood, and her eyes seem to be ringed with red conveying the desperate necessity for sleep, that clearly longs to be adhered to. **She’s still beautiful to him**. It’s at that moment he realises that the oversized leather jacket she’s wearing that swamps her petite but powerful figure, is his, its smooth tan hide holding the earthy and comforting smell of leather, tinged with the essence of old fashioned masculinity that is so Steve. Right now he doesn’t care though, he doesn’t care what she’s wearing, he just cares that she doesn’t drown herself in the liability of Clint’s injury, because she doesn’t need that, she doesn’t need to keep that to herself. His voice breaks through the constant thrum of rain, and the occasional rumble of thunder that seems to reverberate through the room, however it’s rough and gravelly, caused so by the weariness that clings to him,

“Nat it wasn’t your fault.” She sighs heavily, because if she’s honest hearing the same sentence repeated to you over and over again never reiterates its meaning, it just makes you hate its intended purpose more,

“Steve don’t even try...” She leans her head on her free hand but winces at the contact, as every nick and graze throbs and stings with the shifting of her body, as Steve interrupts her approaching tirade, his voice is stronger now, holding the tone of defiance and might that is so identifiably his,

“Try what? Try to comfort a friend?” She keeps her head in contact with her palm but now rests her chin on it, allowing her to tilt her head to view him, her emerald orbs embellished with a glistening and captivating shimmer in the low light, as she replies to him in a concise manner,

“Try to make me feel better by feeding me a load of bull.” He turns his body to face her, his hands remain in his pockets, as he states in a way that conveys his desperation to get through to her, to convince her the truth of his words, because that’s all it is,

“I’m speaking the truth Nat, and you know it.” She does know it, but it doesn’t mean she has to believe it despite the number of people who tell her so, she has always felt this unbridled responsibility for Clint, this protective nature that whatever he endures she does too. It’s ridiculous, and she knows in some ways it’s incredibly childish, but he has done so much for her that she feels she owes him everything and anything, and if she ever causes him any pain she reprimands herself in as many ways as she possibly can. With that thought she takes a large gulp of her drink, the burn of it tingling down her throat in the most satisfying and blissful manner, but it’s not enough, not enough to dispel the blame she feels for Clint’s injury, because she should have had his back, she should have been there to give him cover... it was all her fault, she failed him, she failed her best friend. She speaks, however her tone is hollow, flat and empty holding a vacant void that makes her words seem disconnected from her,

“I’m not sure what I know anymore.” Steve can no longer bear to see her like this, her words are so foreign that for a moment he wonders if it’s a dream or an hallucination, whatever it is he refuses to let her suffer by herself, torturing herself with the blame she accepts so easily. He places himself on his knees at her feet, despite the ache that shoots through his bones and muscles, stretched and aggravated by his sudden movement, his voice is gentle and exudes the kindness and honesty that he naturally conveys,

“Hey look at me...” At that he reaches out, his fingers curling around the wrist of the hand settled in her lap, his touch is tender and compassionate oozing with the want to aid the impact of her burden, his fingers softly skate over the smooth pale skin that follows the inside of her wrist, and she can’t deny that it is indeed an action that induces some sort of relief. She looks up from underneath her thick lashes, unable to refuse him the response that she knows he so desires, and  casts her gaze upon his handsome and chiselled features, despite the flaws and wounds incurred in the siege, he looks every inch the patriotic good man, he has always been. He then continues, his voice still communicating his sincere intention to console her,

“... you know me, and I think I know enough about you to tell you that no matter how much you think you could’ve changed the outcome, you can’t, and tormenting yourself over what you could’ve done won’t do anything. So please stop Nat, if not for you or me, for Clint... he wouldn’t want it.” His fingers continue to trace over her skin, inducing her nerves to tingle in delight at the feel of him, of the reassurance he so willingly gives to her in a way she could gladly accept. His words echoed in her head, and she knew he was right, because she knew him, she knew what he had been through with Bucky and if the tables were turned she would try with every ounce of her being to ease his guilt, just as he was easing hers. Her jade eyes meet his of crystal blue, and in that moment he recognises that he had gotten through to her, allowing a small smile to etch its way across his lips in a manner which induces two adorable dimples to appear, and in turn provokes a smile of her own,

“Plus you know I’m an awful liar.” She allows a flowing methodical chuckle to escape, despite the motion inciting a few aches and pains which she dispels of easily, she revels in the way his features positively light up at the sound of her laugh, as she manages to say through her amusement,

“That’s true.” They take a moment to bask in the perfection that both be held in each other, the admiration they both have for each other’s strengths, weaknesses and exquisite flaws, despite the hell they had encountered today, amidst the darkness that had consumed everything, they seemed to radiate a captivating glow when in each other’s presence. Disrupting the comfortable silence came the calming and serene voice of Jarvis,

“Miss Romanoff and Captain Rogers I am to notify you that Mr Barton is now awake, if you would like to visit him.” Despite her current condition it seemed that immediately with the consoling company of Steve and those words Natasha had reawakened, invigorated and radiant with the strong and beguiling demeanour that she so famously bore, her voice too seemed lighter and more animated as she replied gratefully,

“Thanks J, let Stark and Banner know we’ll be up in a few minutes.”  Steve stood removing his hands from her, an action that if he was brutally honest was not one he was glad of, allowing her to stand and place her now finished drink on the kitchen counter before striding purposefully towards the lift. **It was then that Steve noticed how big his jacket was on her, hanging off of her and hiding her deadly curves from view, but strangely it kind of suited her, and he was starting to become oddly accustomed to her donning his clothes. For some reason it ignited some kind of warmth in him, a recognition of familiarity and predictability that his life had long ago forgotten, and therefore a feeling he welcomed readily in a life and world he sometimes found rather hard to adapt to, but somehow she made it a whole lot easier.**


	7. Coat

    **VII**

* * *

 

   Steve had just boiled the kettle in preparation for a pleasing cup of tea, however on inspection of the fridge it seemed they were out of milk... as usual. Grabbing the empty carton that had been left behind, most likely by Clint or Tony, he chucked it into the bin before surmising that he would have to go and buy some. It was ridiculous that for a building of such technological advancements that yes, you could identify a wanted criminal by face recognition software, or decipher complex coded messages in seconds, yet no one could put an empty carton of milk in the bin or purchase a new one to replace it. With a heavy sigh of irritation Steve cast his gaze out of the window to be met with aggressive looking clouds that hurled out torrents of rain that hammered violently against the glass, yearning to share its damp company. Muttering under his breath he struggled to suppress his annoyance,

“Great.” Making his way swiftly to his room, he planned on grabbing his coat popping out and returning to the tower as quick as possible, with little fuss and the comforting knowledge that at the end of it was a cup of tea and a chance to relax. Entering his room he went to the wardrobe that he knew specifically held his coat; however it seemingly no longer occupied its rightful place, much to Steve’s annoyance. He was so sure he had put it here, in addition to his impeccable tidiness he also possessed an amazing capacity to remember pretty much everything, so to find that both qualities had failed him so was frustrating to say the least. He continued searching his room for another 10 minutes, before conceding that it was not to be found here, and so made his way back to the living quarters, his patience starting to wane.

   As he started to look around he heard the smooth glide of the elevator doors, and looking up he was met with the petite figure of Natasha. Her crimson curls turned almost black at the rain drops that had clearly managed to avoid the shelter of her hood, causing them to coil even tighter in a manner that made her look utterly adorable. Her skin glistened and gleamed, highlighting her porcelain complexion further, as water droplets adorned her skin profusely as a drop skated down her nose and dripped off the tip onto her... coat. **His coat**. Casting his gaze on his garment she wore he allowed an exasperated sigh to escape his lips; however his features could not deny his amusement. His sapphire eyes sparkled with glee at her dishevelled appearance, whilst his lips fought against a smirk, which he eventually allowed, as he conceded to his hilarity over his annoyance,

“Of course you had it... do you not have your own coat?”  Walking towards the kitchen she answered him, her voice holding the rich and smooth tone that was unmistakeably her,

“It was in my room and yours is closer.” Plonking the plastic carrier bag on to the kitchen counter, she tilted her head towards him, a cheeky grin adorning her lips in the most attractive manner. Now she had entered into the warmth from outside, the stark contrast in temperature had in turn induced her cheeks to flush a bright crimson blush. Her radiant complexion enhanced her captivating emerald eyes, bringing forth the slightly uncomfortable thought that he would gladly fall into her gaze, abandoning himself to her enchanting stare wholly. His observations were interrupted by her teasing tone of voice as she inquired,

“I pull it off though, right?” Turning towards him she started to mimic a number of model poses, placing her hand behind her head, tilting her hips and completing them all with a luscious pout. He chuckled readily as he observed her, the long dark coat hanging off of her and saturated with water droplets which flung this way and that as she posed. As his laugh receded, before he knew it he allowed the thought that crossed his mind on a regular basis, to be voiced with a coy smile to accompany it,

“You know you look good in anything.” It was her turn to laugh now, amused by the simple fact that wearing an overly big rain coat had induced this handsome man to voice such a compliment of sincerity. It was... endearing to say the least. Amidst her gentle chuckle she quipped,

“Ever the gentleman.” As she turned back to the bag on the table, Steve revelled in the way her smirk of amusement lingered on her lips, however his appreciation of her was disrupted by the carton she pulled out from the bag. Milk. **It was at that moment that Steve realised he appreciated her much more than he ever thought that amongst all their jests, conflicts and minor tiffs, she was his constant. A dependent individual within a world that was far from the one he had once known, and within the chaos of the here and now, she was undoubtedly his stable support. The one person who he could rely upon, the person he associated with home.**


	8. Hoodie

**VIII**

* * *

 

   Natasha had left on a long term assignment in Britain with Clint for approximately two weeks, and despite predicting the fact he would miss the comforting companionship he had found in her presence, he thought otherwise he would be... fine.

   As the days passed he had found his draws and wardrobe started to contain many of the garments she had procured for herself, and strangely he found himself feeling offended by their reappearance. It was completely ridiculous that he found himself more than once questioning why they had now found their way back into his possession, when they were in fact his to begin with.

   On one particular day he had found his favourite blue t-shirt folded neatly in one of his draws, his mind immediately drawn back to the day when she had worn it herself. His remarkable memory envisaged the enchanting image of her perfectly formed figure, swamped by his blue t-shirt, with her crimson curls framing her striking features.... and that smirk. The way her luscious cherry lips twisted teasingly into that smile, an expression he was sure had cast many a man under her spell, allowing her to command and persecute them at her will. Just the memory of her and the feeling of familiarity he associated with the garment before him, induced him to put it on himself. Pulling it over his head he was flooded by the floral fragrance of her that lingered to it, sweet but not sickly, strong but not overpowering , just Natasha.  He liked it; he liked feeling like she was close to him, like the distance between them no longer existed.

   More often than not whenever someone entered the room he was occupying, he would lift his head immediately, expecting to be welcomed by a witty remark of her doing, her rich velvet voice teasing him in the manner he had become accustomed to. But usually it was Tony, Bruce or Maria, and he felt rather pathetic at the notion that he had expected her to walk through the door at any minute.

   As the days passed, the scent of her that had woven its way into his clothes slowly disappeared; bringing with it a sense of loss and separation that was unreasonably prominent, unpleasantly embedding its way within him. It was then he realised his profound longing for her company to be returned. He missed her. Their friendship had developed slowly bringing along with it a trust and understanding that he had struggled to find with another in this day and age, but she was there. Her intricacies, intelligence and quirks captured him in a permanent state of awe and admiration, along with her extraordinary ability to adapt and cope under extreme circumstances. Her inner strength and resilience resounded within his soul, creating a connection that he could never have anticipated. Despite their differing characters and outlooks she too had fought against those who sought to oppress her, who tried to mould her into the being they required, the weapon and device they wanted her to be. He could relate to that.

   Steve stood in the communal area of the Avengers tower, a bottle of chilled water in his hand, much needed after the intense workout he had just undertaken. His eyes looked out upon the cityscape outside, the monstrous buildings adorning the skyline in their dominant manner, whilst the fast life of the world around them whizzed by in blur. The modern age was indeed an enigma to Steve, a hive of wants, desires and aspirations all commanded and controlled by so many regulations, obstructions and rules, tainting everything with the nuance of misdirection, deception and impropriety. It was all rather bemusing.... and sad at times. Taking a large swig from his bottle, his reflective reverie was disrupted by the entrance of another into the room. Turning his head to observe who it was, he was met by the familiar face of Natasha. Momentarily he was frozen to the spot surprised by her presence, as she wasn’t anticipated to be back until a few days later, but there she was... here, home. As soon as her eyes fell upon the soldier the fatigue held within them fell away, allowing the mischievous and magical glint to relight her enchanting emerald orbs. Her lips etched their way into their trademark smirk, inducing the appearance of two dimples that only appeared when she smiled like so and in turn enraptured Steve in a way that meant he just had to smile too. Her crimson curls were pulled back into a high ponytail, tumbling elegantly from the crown of her head and down the back of her neck, in an effortless but attractive style,

“Lame welcome party Steve.” Her teasing manner embellished her lush rich tone, in a way that made him realise how much he had even missed her voice. Finally he found his own as he replied, his tone warmed by hues of amusement, as a smile captured his lips,

“I thought understated was your style.” A symphony of exquisite chuckles spilled from her lips, much to the delight of Steve, as she walked towards him,

“There’s understated then there’s non-existent.” It was now Steve’s turn to laugh, a soft low rumble that immediately made the edges of her lips curl, because if there was one thing she enjoyed it was making Steve Rogers laugh. Once his amusement had settled, with her by his side he had to voice the unmitigated feeling that had immediately flooded his whole being on her arrival,

“I’m glad you’re back.” Looking up at him, she answered, it was unexpected and surprising but pleasantly so,

“So am I... seriously Britain is cold, not pleasant.” Steve cast his gaze back on to her petite form and it was then her clothing caught his eye, flooding him with a feeling of familiarity and fondness, as he glanced at the grey hoodie that shrouded her small figure, **his grey hoodie** ,

“I see you’ve made yourself at home already.” She smiled knowingly, the gentle curve of her lips softening her usually sharp features, in a charming manner,

“Of course.” He fought against the vehement urge to tell her how much he missed her wit; her rare but bewitching laugh; and her endearing habit of wearing his clothes. He had missed her in her entirety, but to tell her of this was something he wasn’t sure she would permit.

   Natasha had indeed become a beloved friend, but he understood the reasoning for her frequently closed off manner, the way she compartmentalised emotions and information in order to command control and supremacy. All of it was for efficiency when it came to getting the job done, but sometimes he felt it was also for her own protection, a habit she had learnt and could not break. It was another quality of hers he respected, however it also threw up some concern when it came to expressing how he felt about her **. She had become an integral part of his life, and if there was any possibility that he could lose her in any shape or form, he would not be able to comprehend its occurrence, especially if it was of his doing. It couldn’t and wouldn’t happen; he would make sure of that.**


	9. Dinner Jacket

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincere apologies that this chapter has taken so long but unfortunately real life has got in the way also it's such an important chapter I wanted it to be just perfect.
> 
> It's a bit longer than usual, so hopefully that makes up for the delay so please enjoy.
> 
> Thanks for reading.

**IX**

* * *

 

   The majority of guests attending the annual Stark Industries charity ball had long since departed, leaving only the remaining Avengers and their respective team members behind. The glamour and glitz of an event of such extravagance had long ago been stripped away, leaving behind the remnants of champagne, discarded appetisers and the usual debris left behind in the aftermath of a party of such scale. With Tony struggling to remain standing and Clint far from being awake enough to be deemed conscious, it was decided undisputedly that it was time to call it a night.

   Glancing around the table Steve searched for the dinner jack he had long ago removed, after pocketing his bow tie, and had been draped over the back of the chair he had initially occupied. The garment in question was not where it should have been; however on the floor were the abandoned high heels of a certain spy, who had somehow managed to disappear unseen. Bending down he slid his fingers underneath the thin straps of her heels before standing up to observe his surroundings and to seek out her current location, there being likely the place his jacket now resided.

   Wandering aimlessly around the grand hall, he wondered at the pure beauty and elegance of the architecture and decor, a marvel of absolute splendour that exuded luxury and wealth that Steve could only ever dream of. The soft golden glow of the many ornate lights that adorned the walls and ceilings drew his shadow along the walls, pulling it along behind him in a languid manner that portrayed the hesitancy towards his upcoming encounter with Natasha.

   The moment his eyes had laid upon her that night, he knew that he could no longer remain silent on the feelings and thoughts that plagued his heart when regarding her. The worries and fears over her response and the possible damaging and unbearable aftermath that could occur if she denied him, fell away as her deep verdant eyes searched him out within the crowd. The way her crimson lips had immediately formed into an enchanting smile when their gaze met, the sparkle in her eyes twinkling just a bit brighter... and it seemed to be just for him. But now he was removed from the heated hustle and bustle of the gathering itself, his doubts had returned, second guessing the magical moment he had encountered.  

   His mind replayed how she had pardoned herself from the people she had been conversing with, before she strode towards him, her long flowing navy gown fanning out behind her and gliding along the marble floor. Her dress was of simple navy blue, with a high neck and a low back whilst her brazen curls were styled into a refined up-do. She was a vision of sophistication and effortless beauty, a woman that had every being within her vicinity in her grasp, allowing her the ability to command and do what she wished. No limitations, she held all the power and that in itself provoked strong feelings of affection from the soldier.

   Steve himself could not decide whether he felt intimidated by her appearance or enraptured by it, however soon it became clear it was both, serenading him into an indulgent entrancement. One that had seemingly lead him to the dance floor, his arms graced by the presence of her as they swayed to the music allowing the melodic flow to sweep them away. It was then as her hand rested in his that he surmised that tonight he would break his vow of silence that tonight was the night he would discard the shackles of insecurity that had restrained him so.

   Alone wandering around with her shoes settled within his fingers, he wondered whether he had been mistaken, whether the grandeur of the occasion had swept him away, overcoming him with a sense of invincibility that could only lead to humiliation. Feeling the cool wispy tendrils of the crisp evening air, Steve willingly followed its lead before exiting the open French doors at its source.

   With the first few buttons of his shirt undone, and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows he welcomed gladly the soothing touch of the evening air, willingly allowing it to ease the anxiety that had consumed his body wholly. It was then he glanced around him, and framed exquisitely by the flush of illumination from inside was the figure of none other than Natasha herself.

   Her crimson curls remained in their style; however few had fallen loose, catching and dancing in the slight soft wind that encircled them. Upon her shoulders rested his jacket, swamping her in a manner that should have looked ridiculous but somehow it looked just... right. The familiarity of her habit momentarily erased the unease he had held at their encounter, because here it was. Here was the time to do it, the time to tell her what he had felt for so long. But instead he merely jested in the manner he was so used to, edged with innocent flirtation and a hint of affection,

“You know... you make me question whether my clothes actually suit me.”  A pleasant chuckle emanated from the spy as she turned to face him; in her hand she held a tumbler of what was most likely to be her favourite drink: vodka. Her lips curled into her trademark smirk as she quipped back, her tone rich and silken,

“Flattery gets you nowhere Rogers.” As he strolled towards her, he couldn’t help but smile back at her, his features mirroring her own before he replied,

“But it’s nice right?” His exquisite expression was made impossibly adorable by the raise of his eyebrows, enhancing his bright sapphire eyes so you just couldn’t avoid them. Her voice still held hues of amusement, however under the mask of pretence was the rare flitter of honesty,

“From the right person... yes.” She had too often heard the familiar words of flirtation and masked desire, all completely void of genuine feeling and that in itself had allowed her job to be so much easier. The lack of sincerity or legitimate emotion behind the endearments that fell so routinely from those men’s lips, made it all the more easier to end them, to destroy every object that somehow made them the men they were. Businesses, fortunes and egos all sources of their masculinity that allowed them to preen and parade around their empty words of affection, she gladly watched them fall at her behest. With Steve however her mind had struggled to comprehend the honesty that his fleeting compliments bore, it was indeed strange but far from unpleasant.

   Steve had placed himself before her now, his body thrumming in the aftermath of her words, because he couldn’t ignore the feeling they ignited, the feeling that there was so much more for them. So much potential to be something... anything more than what they were.  His strong and resilient body could no longer hold back the surge of hope and optimism that had at long last managed to overcome the fear that was holding him back. In his head he had composed the perfect way to breach the subject, but alas in the moment it was all but lost. All that could accompany the absurd flick of his fingers towards her was his hurried and audacious enquiry,

“Nat what is this?” A coy smile crept across her features, as she narrowed her eyes at him in an inspecting manner that made his toes curl ever so slightly. Despite her inquisitive expression, Steve could see the hint of amusement on her face, shown ever so plainly by the two dimples adorning the edges of her lips. With that she replied playfully,

“What is what?” Despite her admiration at his bravery to bring up such a subject, she couldn’t help but jump on the chance to make him say more. To her mind it wasn’t because of the implication he may speak words she may actually want to hear, but merely the pleasure she got from making strong men blush and stutter.  Especially when those “men” were him.

   As Steve placed her shoes on the ledge of the stone wall that edged the veranda they now occupied, his expression altered suddenly, his eyes appeared wearied and his features vaguely dour. He shook his head in disbelief at her audacity to play the fool, because right then he didn’t need it. He knew only too well that her act of playing dumb was usually to entertain herself, if not anyone else, but he failed to think that perhaps it was also a flawed ploy to coax more from him. Her desire to hear what he had to say flooded her with a sense of intrigue she barely ever encountered, from past experience intrigue caused more harm than good, and was all in all a useless inclination.

   As he shook his head, his voice had transformed drastically from his previous teasing tone as his words appeared stern but holding a softness that expressed the sudden exhaustion he felt upon their conversation,

“Don’t do that, don’t play dumb... I know you’re better than that.” His last comment hit a nerve within her, as she replied abruptly, a truthful severity in her tone,

“You don’t know that.” Her curt statement unleashed an equally harsh and sharp response from the soldier, the words he spoke a stark contrast to their delivery,

“I know there’s something here that we can’t let pass...” They had now moved closer to each other, their bodies only a mere few inches from touching, allowing the repressed emotions they emanated to bleed into one another. As he looked down upon her, his gaze grazed over every detailed feature of her face, reminding him that once before he had looked upon someone this way. **He had lost that chance. He wasn’t going to let that happen again** and something within him told him that Natasha herself had surely realised the precious commodity that time and the right moment possessed. With that thought he finished,

“... and you know it too.” Her expression which had remained indifferent seemed to barely alter, but Steve noted how the tightness in her jaw receded slightly and the tension in her brow subsided also. He had said all that was needed, and now it was her time to talk. Her eyes fell down to the tumbler she cradled in her hands, her nails tapping rhythmically against thick glass creating a light ting that filled the silence between them. He stood there watching her, waiting for her because **if there was one thing he could do its wait for her. As long as she needed.**

   In one moment of finality she downed the last dregs of her drink, before placing it beside her shoes on the ledge, seemingly the time for her contemplation was over. Steve felt again the presence of apprehension and anxiety raise its weary head, but the determination and intrigue of her response pushed it aside. Turning away from him she placed her fingertips on the cool stone ledge, her skin grazing against the grainy texture, as her gaze remained steadfast in front of her. She spoke, her voice sounding distant and removed, but the words she uttered were the most revealing he’d ever heard from her,

“Steve I’m not the person you think I am. Those visions and fantasies you have of me... I’ll destroy them. It’ll hurt.” Placing himself closer beside her he quipped lightly,

“I heal quick.” His jest seemed to dispel the solemn expression adorning her features, as her soft melodic laugh flowed from her lips, the perfect sound he had wanted to hear in that moment. Amidst her amusement she replied,

“That you do.” His gaze fell to her hands resting on the wall, and he noticed the way her finger tips tapped and dragged along the rough surface, in a distracted manner. He wanted to say it was nerves but he’s not sure she’s capable of being nervous, of course he had seen her display a variety of other emotions but this one was missing. Before he knew it, an observation that he had long kept hidden spilled from his lips, one that he had never dared utter before,

“You know you can’t hide forever.” What his words initially suggested bristled Natasha immediately, because she may have had to lay low but she had never hidden. Hidden implied fear, and fear was something she could not allow in her line of work. With that she frowned, her brow swooping low above her eyes as she swiftly turned towards him, her question firm and unforgiving,

“Hide?” He knew that what he’d said could conjure a number of meanings and implications, and he immediately understood her need for an explanation. One which he gladly gave her,

“Hiding behind your past, using it as an excuse to punish yourself and never truly live. Your past is not all of you Nat.” She scoffed loudly as a vicious and sharp smirk etched itself upon her features indicating to him that whatever he had just said she regarded more of a joke than a statement of sincerity. She turned herself fully towards him; her voice was unyielding dripping with a poisonous earnestness that scared him slightly,

“Truly living? I think I lost that option when I took it away from others...” Aggressively she snatched hold of her shoes, before she started to stride away from him, her pace fast and eager. As she started to move away from him she briefly turned back towards him, her finishing statement was one of the worst things he’d ever heard,

“... because monsters don’t get to live, they just exist.” No longer could he withstand the slander of her words, and in a few brisk steps he had caught up to her, before his hand wrapped around her wrist tugging her to him. As she swirled around she swayed towards him, her body colliding into his with the unexpected momentum and the surge of heat that ripped through her veins from the contact was positively electric.  His eyes bore down on her and amidst those captivating azure orbs she saw as clear as day his unrelenting desire to ease her suffering, and the oh so telling glitter of affection that told her his feelings were much more than a fleeting crush. His nose was nearly touching hers as he hushed,

“Exist with me.” His gaze flitted to her lips, and she knew exactly what he wanted to do, but the fact he waited for her to decide made it so much harder for her to resist. Dropping her shoes to the floor, her hands reached for his hips as she pulled him closer, her lips pressing against his in a moment of pure exquisite perfection. The tension held within their bodies subsided as they melted into one another’s touch, as Steve’s hands cupped her face his fingers and thumbs softly brushed along the contours of her porcelain skin. Their lips moved in perfect synergy, learning from each other’s cues and adhering to them in a manner that set their bodies ablaze in a fire of passion, pleasure and desire that neither had ever encountered. **Together they lost themselves in a moment long awaited; a moment that held no promises but instead an abundance of potential. The potential to be whatever they wanted to be, to feel whatever they wanted to feel but most of all a potential that neither had dismissed or overlooked. A single chance, that’s all they needed.**


	10. Shirt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Readers
> 
> It's taken me a long time to write this chapter, and I apologise profusely for that, as one I've been a busy bee and two it's taken me a long time to finish it and if I'm honest I'm still not sure I'm happy with the ending, but I thought I should post it up and see what you think.
> 
> So please let me know if you think it's okay or a steaming turd of a chapter.
> 
> Thanks for reading my dears, and enjoy.

**X**

* * *

   Awakening Steve threw his arm out to the side, in a manner he had done repeatedly over the past month or so, still hoping to find a different outcome to the time before...alas it was much the same. Empty. A languid groan emanated from the soldier as he scrunched his features into an expression of annoyance and frustration before palming his hands over his face, trying to hide from the wounding truth. Natasha had left him alone... again.

   After his admission to her and their subsequent liaisons, things had seemingly become a lot less complicated but as they had continued it had become apparent to Steve that in fact it was the complete opposite. It had become so much more complicated. Over the past couple of weeks Steve had managed to remove himself from the delirium of happiness, enough for him to realise that although he had expressed his feelings for her, Natasha had in no way expressed her feelings for him... not verbally anyway.   
  
   It unnerved him that he had laid bare the affection he held for her, yet her response at the time had been one of avoidance and negativity. Bar their kiss, on reflection it looked wholly as if she felt completely the opposite of him, however her physical shows of affection had portrayed an entirely different story. Her touch and lips had been enough to distract him from the troubling thoughts that had started to become, convincing him for the time being that she did indeed feel the same as he. However one staggering indication that all was not as Steve had thought, was that every morning for the past month he had awoken to find the place beside him devoid of her. Her discarded clothes long gone and the warmth of her body removed and replaced by a barren cold void that clung to his sheets. **She didn’t stay**.

   At first he thought that perhaps it had been due to the unspoken agreement that they would keep... whatever they were, a secret from their fellow Avengers however now he had become convinced that there was much more to it than that. He had wanted to discuss it with her but he could never find the right words to say or the moment in which to breach a clearly sensitive subject, although now he had reached the end of his tether and enough was enough.

   As his hands pulled down his face, his fingers lazily dragging over his brow and settling above his eyes, he groaned loudly his words punctuated by a groan of frustration and agitation,

“What am I doing?” His eyes remained closed as he revelled in the idiocy that was him, before his reverie was interrupted by the familiar teasing luscious tones of none other than Natasha herself,

“What _are_ you doing?” Swiftly he whipped his hands from his face allowing his gaze to befall upon her, and once again he felt himself being overcome by the fondness he held for her as he felt his body course with affectionate warmth. In turn he could not fight the way the edges of his lips curled pleasingly into a soft endearing smile, one that communicated clearly the effect she had on him. Leant against the door frame with her arms crossed against her chest , her curvaceous figure was encapsulated in one of his shirts the excess material hanging from her svelte figure in a manner that had become pleasingly familiar. Her crimson curls were tousled and rough, lacking their usual polished style however he liked it, not that it was anything to do with the fact this hands had indeed contributed to making it look that way. Astounded by her presence he could not hold back the blatant statement that exhaled from his lips, in a soft tone of disbelief,

“You’re here.” Her lips immediately contorted into their trademark teasing smirk, one of which ignited the mischievous glint and sparkle within her bewitching jade eyes, as she strolled towards him. As she made her way to him, he swore she purposefully swung her hips in a slow sensual manner that she most certainly knew would hold his attention, showing off her toned smooth legs as she quipped,

 “Well done your observation skills are clearly improving.” Perching herself on the edge of his bed she leaned over him, slowly lowering her upper body above his with her hands placed either side of his head. Her lips were a mere inch from his, her crimson locks cloaking them within their intimate moment, as she hushed irresistibly,

“Morning soldier.” Before placing her lips upon his in a languid kiss, which basked pleasingly in the ability to indulge in a slow pace that time could then afford them. As they fell into one another, Steve’s hands curled around her waist tightly his fingers furling around the edges of her abdomen in a possessive and wanting manner. Natasha’s arms equally relaxed, allowing her upper body to fall upon his bare chest as her fingertips traced gently along his neck before massaging their way into the hair at the nape of his neck.

   It was at this moment that Steve wished he did not think as much as he did, for despite the pleasant feeling of Natasha in his arms, he could not forget the disappointment he had felt moments ago at the thought of her absence. The anguish and confusion he was consumed with over the mystery of her feelings when regarding them, managed to somehow reach out to him again yearning to be dealt with. Summoning every ounce of will and self control he possessed he withdrew from her lips, allowing his gaze to skate over her beautifully sharp features which had momentarily shifted into an expression of bewilderment. Her fingertips continued to dance along his skin tracing circular patterns along the path of his jugular whilst occasionally following his jaw line, an action he had noticed she was fond of, as she enquired slowly,

“Steve?” He sighed slightly trying in earnest to find the appropriate in to their upcoming conversation before failing spectacularly and coming out with an age old classic,

“We need to talk...” As if she was programmed to respond to those exact words she retracted swiftly from his embrace, as she sat up quickly she murmured,

“Nothing like a cliché to start a conversation.” Her removal from his vicinity was not one he took gladly, feeling immediately the loss of contact as his bare chest bore the brunt of her absence, his skin goosing in response to the cold air where she had once been. She remained perched on the edge of his bed, her knees brought up to her chest with her arms wrapped around them whilst her features were set into an expression of pure indifference. Her lips were pursed, and her eyes had long lost their vibrant sheen of vigour and energy her gaze weighing heavy upon him, just waiting. Waiting was something that Natasha wholly disliked when it came to situations away from work, and so with words embellished with impatience she passively stated,

“You know in a “talk” you need to actually talk.” Drawn out from his momentary lapse of attention, which mainly consisted of his observation of her, he shuffled into a more suitable up right sitting position. Once settled he nervously mumbled,

“Right... yeah...” An expectant look adorned Natasha’s face as she quirked her eyebrow in a manner that told him simultaneously she was waiting and she was tired of doing so. Looking upon her he dispelled all the nerves that had clung to him vehemently whenever he thought of discussing his concerns from what had been one of the best nights of his life. His voice was steady and firm, seemingly sounding incredibly sure in a moment where he felt quite the contrary,

“That night when I told you how I felt about you, about us... I hoped that you would feel the same...” Her attention was still held by him and only him, but nothing in her demeanour or posture indicated any initial response to his words, so he continued,

“... and at the time I thought that you said you did, but looking back... you said nothing. I just want to know do you want this? Because if you don’t that’s... fine.” His shoulders had slumped forward, and his features had dropped into an expression that looked incredibly like a guilty child who thought their behaviour had ruined everything, in some way it was adorable but in another it was heartbreaking to say the least. The edges of her lips tugged and pulled, causing them to shift and move in a show of uncertainty as she processed his words. Fidgeting she moved her legs so she was now sitting cross legged facing him, her fingers toying with the edge of his shirt that she currently wore, conveying a discomfort she felt whenever she had to breach the subject of them. It was hard enough for her to comprehend that amidst their burgeoning and trusting friendship, intermittently dispersed with smatterings of flirtation they had somehow become a them, a we, an us. **It terrified her**. More than any adversary, more than any nightmare that plagued her every night, the idea of being with someone, depending on someone and... _loving_ someone was horrifying. To think that an individual could hold the key to your happiness, to your hopes, dreams and desires and have the ability to take it all away whenever they pleased consumed Natasha with a powerful feeling of apprehension and unease. To allow someone that power and control over you was something that she had long ago been taught was not an option, it was weakness and a quick and sure fire way to get killed. No attachments allowed. If anything this knowledge of the human desire for companionship and love had become incredibly useful when it came to getting close to marks or obtaining required information. People were so desperate to belong to someone, to trust and have someone and live the reality of what they had been taught was a ‘happy ever after’, it was easy to exploit. Too easy.

“If you’re expecting a declaration of love I’m sorry to disappoint.” Gazing upon her he identified that no longer was she Natasha, right now the mask of the Black Widow had fallen into play the very moment she felt uncomfortable. Her need for control and stability blazed vividly across her features in a stern show of indifference, her eyes lacked their usual luscious and rich gleam whilst her body exhibited clear signs of tension. She was on her guard, every sense thrumming with the promise of a threat... and right now that threat was him. With a heavy heart provoked by the disappointment of her assumption of him, he sought out her gaze and with the stark but gentle honesty that was so him, he stated,

“You know that’s not what I’m asking.” Her steady stare continued to bore into him, it’s vacant nature scratching across his skin in a raw show of discomfort, as she replied,

“What do you want from me Rogers?” Knowing what he was to ask of her was somewhat simple, but for her it was a whole other foreign realm, a plane she had not been able to cooperate with for some time. With that in mind, Steve still answered her, knowing full well that it could end... everything,

“I want you to be honest with me.” At that a smirk etched its way across her lips in a manner that indicated it was masking a lot more than it was revealing. Her hands glided up and down her bare legs in an absent minded show of unease, before she drily quipped,

“That’s a lot to ask of a girl.” As strong as the trust he had in her he replied,

“I believe you can do it.” The words he had spoken undoubtedly had an effect, as he saw clearly through the breaks in her steely facade, that he had reached her. For so long she had feared the concept of caring for someone, of being dependent on a person who held everything you wanted, but she never once believed she could become that to someone. But she was, right now looking into the eyes of Steven Grant Rogers she saw **she was everything he wanted**. And in that one moment she realised that underneath everything, beneath the trepidation and apprehension, **she wanted him too**. Immediately Steve recognised the tension ease slightly from her body, her eyes softened and appeared to glitter in their usual attractive manner, as she stated with a soft smile,

“Yes.” Immediately his brow lifted and a somewhat childish excitement and hope took over his features, it was an endearing sight to say the least and one that made her smile broaden. Despite his animated expression, she recognised that he wasn’t quite sure of what she was saying yes to, causing his eyes to squint in a questioning manner as he uttered,

“Yes?” Shuffling forward over his outstretched legs she straddled his hips, much to his surprise from the look on his face, as her fingertips gently glided across his jaw in a show of pure compassion. As she did so she gazed down upon him, taking in every perfectly drawn line of his features knowing that in her heart of hearts he was far too good for her. But he wanted her, he wanted all her flaws; a past that was darker than most; and the complete and utter mess that was her emotional capabilities. He wanted her and she couldn’t deny him it anymore, she couldn’t deny herself either. Her thumb grazed the edge of his lips, as his hands crept up her back, before she hushed,

“Yes I want this.” If you had asked Natasha Romanoff what would be the one thing she would like to see before she left this world, before her heart stopped and the burden of her identity fell away, she would not have been able to answer. But right then she knew that she’d like to see Steve’s face when she uttered those words. His eyes lit up as if finally a heavy storm that had seated itself there had lifted, whilst his dimples appeared more prominent than ever as a massive grin swept upon his lips. His cheeks positively bloomed with an innocent blush that was a show of pure excitement rather than an embarrassment, and she had made him look like this. **She had made him happy, and if that was the one thing she could take from her incredibly intricate, disrupted and corrupted life, she couldn’t complain.**

 

 


	11. Boxers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to my beloved readers old and new
> 
> Well I apologise for taking so long to finish the final chapter of this story, shockingly the last time I updated this was in November which is frankly ridiculous and all kinds of horrendous. However the end is nigh, and it has now been written so I really hope you enjoy it as much as I've enjoyed writing this entire story. 
> 
> Your reviews and kudos and just the amount of support and love for this story has blown me away and I can't thank you all enough so I hope this chapter expresses that in the form of the beautiful relationship of Steve and Natasha.
> 
> Much love and appreciation :) x

**XI**

* * *

 

    It was indeed a fact that happiness could be sought in the minor acts of life, moments in which an insignificant thought or action had an impact that no one estranged from that instant would understand. The happiness at finding the last pack of potato chips at the back of the cupboard; opening the cereal box to find a free toy inside; and finding out your favourite TV show had been renewed for another season. All sources of the blinding glow of purity that happiness can bestow, in which we bask and give thanks for. Steve had indeed found one of these moments himself; it featured heavily the presence of a woman who had forced upon him a menagerie of emotions. To find Natasha wearing his clothes had become one of those odd delights in life, a sight that would instigate a flush of warmth throughout his chest coercing an expression of pure adoration and content.

     This lazy Sunday morning had embellished itself with the exquisite bow of this charming sight, his gaze glistened with the soft sheen of admiration paired with a gentle smile which further perpetuated his appreciation of her. Natasha herself was sat cross legged upon the glossy black counter of the breakfast bar; her brazen crimson curls framed her sharp features in a tousled style. Upon her upper half she sported a slouchy black sweater, although the notable item of clothing was the pair of striped boxers she wore. The mundane blue and white striped pattern had earned the nickname of “old man pants” by their current wearer, although that clearly did nothing to deter her from wearing them. He was glad of that. The somewhat romanticised vision of domesticity they had painted was somewhat made more real by the languid and rather uncouth manner in which Natasha chomped away at her apple, the juice spraying from each bite. Escaping from consumption the sweet liquid found refuge upon her chin, before it soon fled with gusto trickling down the contours of her elegant neck. The ungainly manner in which she ate her breakfast fruit did nothing to put a dent in the admiration he felt for her, they had reached a point in their relationship where they no longer felt the need to hide their bad habits. Although Steve could not deny the bemusement he felt at some of Natasha’s decisions, on this occasion it was the fact she was sat on the counter top instead of the numerous stools available,

 “Really Nat? Do you need to sit there? There’s a stool right there.” As he spoke he continued to stir their coffees, knowing only too well that Natasha had a habit of struggling to function in the morning without some form of caffeine.

     Domesticity and what was regarded as the usual norms of two people in a relationship had been something Natasha had found surprisingly hard to adapt to. She still wondered now whether the authenticity of the situation made it bordering on impossible for her to accept the behaviours that she was expected to deliver. Undercover she had no qualms with becoming the person she was required to be, it wasn’t real and it was temporary meaning that no sooner as she became that character she always knew she’d escape the plotline she was required to act out. But this... this was a whole other ball game; she was required to be herself because someone actually wanted that, they wanted the complete and utter mess that was simply her. That role she had seemingly struggled with for well... ever, she had encountered so many identity crises that she still wasn’t entirely certain on who she was. Was she the person she was because she had been told to be? What if things had been different, would she still be the same woman she was now? Most likely not... but maybe that could be a good thing. A product liable to defects, damaged and dented to a point where it was hard to identify which parts were functioning and which were not. But he wanted that, wanted every scratch and fault with no shoddy patch up jobs in sight and she honestly could not deny him that. So here she watched Steve make her morning coffee and bickered with him in the playful manner she so often used,

 “Freedom Rogers, I thought that was what you fought for? I have the freedom to sit wherever I want.” Her crimson lips preened themselves into the cheeky grin he had admired many a time, its appearance a signature sign that she was indeed teasing him. As she took another large mouthful of apple, the pungent proud essence of victory emanated from her; coaxing a sigh of defeat to escape from him although he too featured a grin,

“Okay you got me there.” As he cradled her coffee within his large hand he carefully shuffled towards her, before he passed it into her much smaller palms. Taking it from him she gazed up into his crystal blue eyes, allowing herself the luxury of falling into that gaze knowing full well that he wanted her there always. She wanted to be there too. Looking up from underneath her thick lashes she enquired softly,

 “Three sugars?” His lips curved into that all too familiar smile, as he replied,

“Of course.” That was plenty enough reason for her to tilt her chin, an indication that a kiss was a resolute certainty at this current moment, and on successfully reading his cue he bent down to press a chaste kiss to her lips. The moment unfortunately was rather short lived, as what sounded very much like a small herd of elephants traversed into the communal kitchen.

     It wasn’t a herd of elephants; in fact Steve thinks he may have been able to turn a blind eye to that; however it was Tony, Bruce and Clint. At their immediate entry Steve had quickly torn himself away from the intimate stance he had held before Natasha, and had hurriedly returned back beside the counter where his coffee had remained. It wasn’t that he didn’t want his fellow teammates to know of his changed relationship status, it was just that it had never come up and he and Natasha had never discussed it, allowing the subject to fall to the wayside seemingly unimportant. He couldn’t help however the way his brow furrowed at the sight of her expression of amusement, the failed concealment of a slight titter that indicated perhaps he shouldn’t be quite so uptight.

     Clint waltzed towards the stool settled near Natasha, as he plonked himself upon it before he carefully prised the cup of coffee from her hands, an act that was rather daring although remarkably allowed. To accompany his rather bold theft, was a tongue in cheek word of gratitude,

“Thanks babe you shouldn’t have.” On taking a sip however it became rather apparent why she had allowed him to take it in first place, as he spluttered his features scrunched into an expression of pure disgust and revulsion,

“God woman what are you trying to do? Poison me?” As he shoved the offending beverage back into the waiting hands of its original owner, an amused smirk liberally illustrated her features as she replied,

 “Believe me if that was my intention you’d have been gone long ago.” Basking in the aftermath of triumph against her dear friend, she took a blissful sip of her coffee, whilst Clint replied with the tone of sarcasm that had become a regular feature within their friendship,

“You’re too kind.”

     Opposite this exchange of a rather casual and relaxed manner was one of a completely opposite nature, as a rather anxious Captain tried in all earnest to appear of a somewhat ‘normal’ disposition. This however was something Steve had not quite grasped the hang of; he was by temperament a soldier and therefore was not skilled in the line of deception driven by concealment and performance. A spy or actor he was not, so it came as no surprise that as Stark strolled towards him that with one glance he identified that something was not quite right,

 “You okay Cap? Who’s ruffled your feathers?” Steve’s hand instinctively squeezed around the cup he was holding, the pressure around the ceramic hard and pressing although he had to remind himself that the strength he possessed could shatter it if he had the inclination to. Definitely not a discreet incident, so with that in mind he allowed his grasp to ease although the discomfort he felt did not follow it’s leave too. In a poor show of feigned innocence he stuttered back, 

 “Eh... what?” With an eye roll that illustrated the severe lack of patience Stark had with anything and anyone, an exasperated sigh fell from the millionaires lips as he quipped back,

 “Is a stick up your arse? I mean how many more metaphors are there?” Stark continued to peruse the cupboard that was above the countertop before him, the open door obscured his face from Steve’s view making it all the more easier to fib,

“I’m fine... just... thinking that’s all.” As he pulled forth a bowl and a box of cereal Stark closed the cupboard, revealing a creased brow and a slanted purse of lips to indicate that he was entirely not convinced by his teammate’s response. For Tony however the current moment called for more pressing matters such as food, so he continued with that task allowing the odd demeanour of his Captain to be put on hold.

     Meanwhile Steve himself took a much needed gulp of his coffee, the pungent scent and heat brushed across his cheeks as he did so, whilst he glanced over the rim to find the sight of Natasha smirking at him. Her smirk was always a precursor to a teasing comment or observation and Steve was sure that his appalling show of some sort of composure was definitely going to come under fire. Tony had finished making his breakfast and was now on to the important task of devouring it, as he did so he asked offhandedly,

“So what are you two lovebirds up to today? Or do I not want to know?” Steve flinched at the inquiry, his feet somehow failed to coordinate properly as his previously secure stance fell apart as he swayed and floundered. The movement created enough momentum for his coffee to splash over the rim and on to him, leaving a dark scorching stain upon his pristine white t-shirt, whilst the liquid still within his mouth proceeded to coax a menagerie of coughs and splutters. On finally clearing his airways he procured enough composure to slam his cup back upon the counter, before he averted his gaze towards the offending stain upon his chest, his fingers plucked at the material pulling it taut and toward him to allow further inspection. The empty space that awaited his response was deafeningly present and falling victim to its wish he croaked out,

“Wh... Wha... What?” On casting his gaze back to his company he found Clint trying in earnest to stifle a snigger, although the glint in his eyes proved how amused he actually felt as he chuckled through a sly grin,

“Oh give it up Rogers, everyone knows about you and little Miss Russian-psycho here.” Steve’s brows leapt high upon his forehead, his eyes now unmistakably wide as he pursed his lips in a pathetic attempt to look somewhat indifferent. He really needed to learn how to conceal what he actually felt, he had always dismissed those observations of those who declared he wore his heart on his sleeve, it seemed he not only wore his heart but his brain there also.

     As he sought out Natasha’s gaze he tried to wordlessly call out for help, what did she want from this situation? What would she do or say to divert the attention? Or would she just come out with it? She did not answer to any of those questions, instead she looked entirely indifferent towards the entire situation and completely unmoved by the possibility that everyone would find out about them.  As Tony finished a large mouthful of cereal, he casually pointed out,

“I mean even Bruce knows, right Brucie boy?” Bruce had resided on one of the other stools nearby, his attention had long been held securely by the document he had been reading, so initially he merely hummed in agreement. Although a mere second later it clearly occurred to him that when conversing with Tony it was better to check what you had agreed to rather than bypassing any details, as he halted his study and glanced up,

“Eh what?” His enquiry was met with clarification from Stark himself,

“Beauty and the beast here?” A small shrug relayed that the Doctor did indeed know who the topic of discussion was even without the use of their proper names, a clear indication by Steve that the cat was completely out of the bag and had indeed been wandering free for some while. Bruce reiterated Steve’s assumption as he remarked,

“Oh yeah I knew ages ago.” On concluding his involvement in the conversation was finished he returned to his initial object of interest, something of far more significance than the dating habits of his friends and teammates.

     All eyes were back on Steve again, and on having procured no encouragement, determent or instruction from Natasha herself he continued to not have a clue on what to say or do,

“What? No... it’s not... I mean...” Sometimes Steve wandered if the serum had changed anything at all because right now he felt that he was yet again that small weak kid from Brooklyn, backed into a corner and awaiting his downfall despite his best efforts to avoid it and best intentions at heart. Maybe not everything had changed. Tony’s voice interjected his reverie, as he jabbed the air with his spoon and stated,

“FYI she’s the beast.” Natasha knew now that Steve had endured enough discomfort, confusion and apprehension for one day and perhaps it was in fact time for her to intervene. She knew they knew, hell Clint had recognized what she had felt for Steve long before she had even known it herself. He needed to know now, because if it had been up to him he would have told them all but he had deflected, averted and dodged the truth all for her. Grand gestures of romance and affection was something out of the movies, out of epic stories and legendary myths, but everyday Steve held her in mind with minor actions or words crafted just for her. His flailing ability to lie or deceive on this occasion was one of those, the good intentions he held when regarding everyone, everything and her was something she marvelled at daily. She did not hold this trait in an equally easy manner; self-interest had been part of her life for so long it was sometimes hard to be so empathetic to others. She had been trained to put herself first always, think of you before anyone else, because others held the promise of a threat no matter their origin or general being. Somehow this teaching had managed to bypass him, slithering past unnoticed to allow her affection to lie before him; her trust had placed itself daringly into his hands. She owed him,

“ Steve they know.” Steve’s brow immediately lowered allowing a crease to form that portrayed his bafflement at her statement, a point he reiterated as he questioned,

“ How?” He was answered by Tony, as he so often did he took it upon himself that it was indeed his responsibility to bestow some clarity upon the situation, stupidly everyone let him and listened,

“She was wearing your clothes... always, I mean 21st century dating tip 1-0-1 if a woman wears your clothes they either, a) fancy you, b) they’re fucking you or they’re c) in love with you. It’s science.” With his explanation concluded he shovelled a large spoonful of cereal into his mouth, although not all flakes made it inside his mouth as one stuck to his chin, no one told him.

     Steve looked back to Natasha to see that she had actually nodded her head in steady agreement, and he could not deny the relief he felt that everybody now knew and that most importantly she did not mind it. It did not however do anything to deter the shock and numerous questions that now plagued him over the duration that his companions had know of his relationship with the spy, or the embarrassment he felt over his failed and rather pathetic attempt to conceal the truth.  

* * *

 

     Once again they were left alone, Steve had started to tidy up the aftermath of breakfast although most of the dishes and food left behind weren’t actually his or Natasha’s, but it seemed he was now not only a Captain but a cleaner too. After all that had come to pass the silence within the room seemed eerie and unsettling, only the mere movements of Steve himself could be heard. Natasha was usually one to like silence, she felt comforted by it and it had long been a companion to her throughout her life, but it wasn’t right. She still resided upon the countertop, although now she had brought herself to the edge allowing her legs to hang down, as she observed the man she so cared for,

“Steve...” He continued to tidy although he turned his head toward her, his crystal blue eyes gazed up at her in a manner that reminded her very much of a wounded pup, as he acknowledged her,

“Hmm?” She didn’t need him to say it because every inch of his expression indicated that what had come to pass that morning had not settled well on him, for that she felt painfully responsible. With the grace and poise she naturally possessed she moved elegantly from her chosen seat, allowing her to land soundlessly onto the floor before she made her way towards him. On placing herself by his side she softly traced his jawline with her fingertips, an affectionate action that had become a regular feature within their relationship and one of which both were fond of. As she looked upon his face a gentle smile curved her lips as she hushed,

“You know, you’re far too good for this world Steve.” Reading between the lines Steve could see that she also meant her, because ever since they had become... something he could see it as clear as day. She held this constant view that she could never be worthy of him, could never be deserving of his affection and the contentment of which he had brought to her life. As she continued to caress his jaw he tilted his head ever so slightly, his lips sought the soft pad of her thumb where he pressed a kiss to it and replied,

“Nat don’t...” Before he could finish however she interjected, intent clear upon her face,

“Don’t what? Speak honestly, voice my opinion?” Her tone held the attractive teasing manner that was so her, as she reiterated to him words he had indeed said to her before. Once upon a time he had battled for the words of comfort he had created just for her, once before he had asked her to be honest and to speak the truth in a moment in which she struggled to do so. He had no comeback and she knew it, his expression was dumbfounded but she could also see from the curve of his lips that he was simultaneously warmed by it too. Her hand dropped from his face as she relinquished her touch and glanced at him in triumph, as he replied within a chuckle,

“No you can do that always.” With that he continued with his initial task, an assumption that their conversation had now ended, however Natasha remained where she stood, as she agreed firmly,

“Okay.” The events of their morning had made it clear that Steve beheld her in a way that no other man ever had, the ways in which he adored her continued on into a precious list that Natasha was sure she would indulge herself in reading forever if she could. She did not need the presence of a man to make her feel worthy, to validate her presence in a world dominated by men and those who followed them so diligently. No she did not need that but she needed him because she wanted him... because **she loved him**.  His presence made her feel better and made her be better, he gave her an example of who she wanted to be, she wanted to do good not just for the reason of wiping her ledger but because it was the proper thing to do. It was moral and honourable, just like him, and she had ashamedly not been that enough in her long life. That she truly regretted, but she wouldn’t regret this. Calmly and without fear she declared,

“ **I love you**.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment and I am open to prompts for these two amazing characters, hope you enjoy the stories.


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